In sickness or health, till death do us part

Disclaimer: The movie 'Kingdom of Heaven' belongs to William Monahan and Ridley Scott, but the people in this story, save the ones I made up, were real people. I hope they smile when looking down on us, well, the nice ones, anyway, and forgive us for putting them into our stories.

Author's note: This story, though based on real historical events, will most likely be flawed in some way or other, as I'm not yet as familiar with that part of history as I would like. Plus, it is somewhat AU. As mentioned in the summary, it shows what could have been if King Baudouin IV had been married to a woman who had been promised to him since birth. Please review and tell me what you think.

And many thanks to DocM and LadyLorca who know much more about history than I do and who are being extremly helpful!

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Prologue

The woman was small and seemed weighed down by the heavy fabrics in dark green and red which, along with golden embroidery and silver trimming, made up her dress. A thick black veil covered her hair and obscured much of her face.

Her eyes, mournful and dark, looked a little inflamed, the skin around them reddish, as if she had cried recently.

One of her hands, unadorned with either rings or henna paintings, clasped a simple silver cross that hung on a chain around her neck. The other one held a quill, which was poised over an empty sheet of parchment. She seemed to consider what to write, before finally beginning, her hand steadily writing word after word without so much as a tremble.

"This is the tale of Joana, Queen and wife of King Baudouin, fourth of that name.

How could a woman be married, in every sense of the word, to a man she knew to be stricken with leprosy?

The answer is rather simple and yet difficult.

I had been promised to Baudouin since the moment I was born. No one ever doubted that it was my destiny to be Queen of Jerusalem. However, when my father heard of Prince Baudouin's sickness, he had a decision to make. King Amaury offered him to break the engagement, but my mother did not care so much for my safety as for our alliance with the royal family. As she put it, a man with such an affliction would have little need for a woman in his bed, and as long as I was the wife on his arm in public, I would be able to remain both healthy and chaste. Even more, if some handsome and loyal knight were to strike my fancy, I might yet procure the heir Baudouin needed.

I was an only child, my father therefore decided to keep me at home. He was an old man with a young wife and a weak heart, however. That proved to be his death before he could inform King Amaury of his acceptance of his gracious offer. My mother married me off to Baudouin a few months later. I had just turned nine.

For three years, I never even met my husband without someone else being present, until I was twelve, and he was thirteen. His father died, and he became King. It was a difficult time for everyone at court.

That was when we became friends, great friends. To this day, I am the only one around whom he doesn't always wear that mask.

And three years later, I had fallen desperately in love with him. Somehow I always thought that love was unrequited, that he only thought of me with brotherly affection, until one day when I looked into his eyes. Eyes, so blue and beautiful, and filled with love and longing. And I could not help it. I kissed him."

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Blue eyes stared into her dark ones, waiting for some sign. Her hand hovered over the chessboard and her brow furrowed in concentration.

A small smile played around his lips. He knew her, knew how to read her. And really, her move was exactly how he had predicted. With a triumphant smile, she moved her bishop, taking his knight with her, unknowing that she had just gone into a trap.

It became clear, though, when he effectively captured her queen and called, "Checkmate!"

Joana pouted, but she couldn't remain angry at the sight of the happy sixteen-year-old, laughing in joy at having won once more.

His eyes met hers again and she felt a wave of affection wash over her, too strong to ignore. So she rose from her chair, leaned over the chessboard and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was brief, but to Joana, it might as well have been forever. Then she sat back down again.

Baudouin's smile had frozen. He stared at her in a mixture of disbelief and horror. And then he rose so forcefully that he knocked over the chair he had been sitting in. Joana opened her mouth to say something, but he had already turned from her and hastened out of the room.

She was left sitting in front of the chessboard, her lips still tingling from the kiss and a strange new feeling in her chest.

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"Baudouin, of course, was shocked to the core. He even turned from me and ran. It took half a month of continuously touching him when his guard was down until I had convinced him to take this chance. He was furious with me at first, for he felt guilty and frightened whenever we shared a kiss and he reckoned that I was acting irresponsibly. He was probably right, but I had no choice. My heart would have burst with love if I had not kissed him that day. I remember the breakdown I had, which finally made him give in."

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Joana wiped the tears from her eyes, furious with herself for this embarrassing display of childishness. It weighed heavily on her heart, this new situation with Baudouin. He was more careful around her than he had ever been. Gone were the carefree hours, playing chess or the times he sat in his chair and listened to her singing and playing the lute, something she had never done for anyone but him and her father.

Now, he was always so cool and distant. It had only been two weeks since the kiss that had changed all, but those two weeks had seemed longer to her than the entire six years of marriage before.

Tears blurred her vision, making the hallway with its marble pillars and floral decorations seem like nothing but a dizzying array of colours.

She lifted the edge of her veil to cover her mouth, in order to smother the sobs. Suddenly, a hand was placed on her shoulder and she jolted.

"What is the matter, my sweet?" Baudouin asked gently, his voice and the tender touch of his hand enough to make her shudder.

"You know very well what is the matter with me," she answered him, turning around. She sounded more defiant than she had intended, but Baudouin only sighed, a sad look in his eyes.

"I know. But you must realise why… that… is not possible. I want to love you, my dear, I do! But… I cannot. I am simply… unable to!"

He turned away suddenly, embarrassed. It took Joana a moment to understand what he was implying, then she felt her cheeks blush. Still, she put her hand on his shoulder.

"I don't care, my lord. As long as you will hold me in your arms and kiss me now and again, I will be content. I would never ask of you what you cannot or will not give. I only ask that you permit me to love you!"

She had not finished that sentence before Baudouin had turned around once more and pulled her close, her head coming to rest over his heart. She wept, and by the shudder of his body, so very close to hers, she could tell that he, too, was weeping.

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"And then, finally, he let me love him. And to this day, while everyone around me is regarding my face curiously, to see if I show signs of the condition, I know my choice was the right one. I am still healthy; and even if I contract the disease, so be it. I may die for love a little less heroic than some of the heroines our troubadours sing of, but when I look upon my beloved Baudouin, I almost wish I would finally feel the grasp of the sickness in my body. This way, we would be reunited in heaven after God calls my love to Him, without having to wait quite so long. Now that I know how sweet it is to be with him, I don't think I could stand being without him again."

Queen Joana put down the quill and looked down upon the parchment. It had been comforting to write it down, but she knew she would never give it to anyone to read . Who would be interested in the whining of a young woman, queen or not?

So she picked up the parchment in one hand, carried it over to a candle and set it on fire. She put it down in a silver bowl and watched as it curled in the flames, blackened and then disintegrated.

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Author's note: Well, should I continue? I'm not writing a Mary-Sue fic, that I can guarantee you. My focus might be mainly Queen Joana, but that's because she is the one telling the story, and she is far from perfect. The true hero of this story is, of course, the great King Baudouin IV. Who else could it be.